


It Had to be a Doctor

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Not my best, Pre ASiP, Tumblr request, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have a Sherlock request please. Pre ASiP first meeting. John is still in the army but home on leave before he ships out to Afghanistan. Sherlock meets him while investigating his first case with Lestrade after Sherlock ends his drug habit. John is intially a suspect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Had to be a Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr request that I filled but really not my favorite thing I've done (in terms of how well I wrote it). Hope it's okay!

A doctor. Sherlock was positive they were looking for a doctor - the kidneys and liver had been expertly removed. Most likely, the individual had experience fighting, as there had clearly been a struggle, given the bruising on the body, and any unexperienced man would not have been capable of defeating someone the size of the victim. Based on the chaffed knuckles, the murderer would show evidence of the fight.

He had hired several members of the homeless community to keep watch on the entrances of hospitals near the crime scene for someone matching the killer’s description, but he knew that was unlikely to prove useful. Lestrade had called him that morning telling him a witness had come forward, claiming that they couldn’t see the killer’s face, but it was supposedly a man around 5’ 7”. It had only been a fist fight, she said, so she didn’t think to get involved, but when she saw the victim’s face on the television she’d dialed Scotland Yard straight away. Sherlock demanded to question the witness, but Lestrade refused. Something about not trusting him with an ‘emotionally fragile young woman’.

It had been pure luck when Mike Stanford introduced him to a Dr. John Watson. One look and he knew - 5’6” in height, a bruise on his cheek that couldn’t be older than three days, roughly how long it had been since the body was found, and a military doctor. Dr. Watson was on leave from Afghanistan and was being shipped out again in a month, but had stopped in to visit his friend Mike. Somewhat intelligent, Sherlock had to admit. Four weeks later and he would be in the Middle East, far away from all suspicion.

Mike had been in the middle of telling him how they met when Sherlock left to call Lestrade. “5’6”, military doctor, bruise on his left cheek.”

“What?”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “The killer - I believe he is currently at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.”

Lestrade was silent for a moment before responding. “I’ll be right there.”

_____________________

“Well, it’s been great catching up with you, Mike.” Sherlock teared his eyes away from the microscope to watch Watson shaking hands with his friend and getting ready to leave.

“Call me before you’re deployed again, will you?”

Sherlock glanced over at the clock. It had been ten minutes since he hung up with Lestrade, and the incompetent detective wouldn’t arrive for another five minutes at least. 'Find a way to stall him,' he ordered himself. John was already walking out of the door.

“I’m done now,” Sherlock said once he heard the door click. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Eh,” Mike looked up from a report he’d been reading. “Alright, see you tomorrow, then.”

Sherlock didn’t bother responding to the man’s farewell. He grabbed his coat and quickly walked through out of the doors, trying to catch up with Dr. Watson. Fortunately, he hadn’t been in any rush, and was only a little further down the corridor.

“Dr. Watson,” Sherlock called. John stopped walking and turned around, looking a little puzzled but had a polite smile on his face.

“Oh, please, call me John.”

“John, then.” 'It doesn’t matter what you say, just keep him here', he thought to himself. “I was wondering how long you’ve been in London?”

“Two weeks, but I’m going back in a month.” John paused for a moment and looked him over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were particularly interested in me. You seemed rather busy in the lab.”

“Yes, well, I was working on this case, you see.” Sherlock was silently cursing Lestrade and his incompetence in his head, wishing the detective would just show up. Playing nice was not his forte. “Are you… Where have you been staying?”

“With my sister, but I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome.” John looked sheepishly towards the exit. “Look, I’m sorry, but I actually have an appointment with a potential roommate that I’m running late for. It was very nice meeting you, Sherlock.”

John was turning to make towards the doors when it happened. Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure why he did it - a desperate attempt to keep the doctor from leaving? All he knew was that in a second he had grabbed John and kissed him awkwardly in the middle of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. For a moment, John’s whole body tensed and Sherlock was worried he was going to bolt for the doors. But then his body relaxed into it and Sherlock could feel the shorter man smile into the kiss before pulling back.

“I was wondering.”

“Wondering what?” Sherlock asked indignantly.

“Why you were wondering where I was staying.”

“No, I didn’t…” Sherlock trailed off and John smirked, watching the man stumble over his words for a moment. “Wait, you said you were staying with your sister.”

“Yes?”

“Could she verify your location on the evening of November sixth?”

“I suppose so,” John said, clearly confused. “Why do you ask?”

And with that, the doors opened and in walked a very frustrating detective. “Dr. Watson, would you please—”

“It’s not him,” Sherlock cut Lestrade off bluntly. “You can check with the sister.”

“What? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” Honestly, how idiotic could one man be? “But it seems our killer is still on the loose.”

“Killer?” John pipped in. “Would someone explain to me what’s going on?”

“I thought you might be the murderer of James Spencer, a former associate of Sean Adams,” Sherlock explained bluntly. 

“Why did you think that?”

“You fit the description. Military doctor with training in combat and the skill to extract internal organs cleanly, match the description given by a witness of a man brawling with Spencer shortly before his death, and the bruise on your cheek is roughly three days old, also when our victim was murdered. There aren’t many muscular, short, bruised doctors in the London area with professional training in martial arts.”

Much to his surprise, Dr. Watson laughed, although it sounded slightly pained. “I see, then. Well, I truly do need to be on my way, so unless I’m being arrested,” he paused to look at Lestrade, who didn’t seem to understand what was going on, “I’ll just go now.”

“John,” Sherlock sighed. “Wait.”

“It’s alright, Sherlock, I understand. There’s no need to explain.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Lestrade chuckled slightly, but stopped with a glare from the consulting detective. “If you’re appointment doesn’t go well, I have an extra room in my flat. I’ve been meaning to rent it out.”

A small smile tugged on John’s lips. “Alright then.”

“Not that I want you to. But it may be worth considering, if—”

“I get it, Sherlock.” John was grinning now. “Well, I’m off.” He gave a little wave and headed out of the building.

“What was that about?” Lestrade asked, trying not to smirk at Sherlock’s slight blush.

“There is a killer somewhere in London selling organs on the black market. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Lestrade shrugged and turned around to head out of St. Bart’s. “So you sure it’s not him.”

“Call his sister and verify his location on the evening of the murder and then I will be.”

“Do you have her number?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes once again at the other man. “You’re a detective. I’m sure you’ll be able to look it up.”

“Fine, then,” Lestrade muttered. “Well, good luck with your new boyfriend.”

Sherlock shot him a look, but Lestrade started whistling and headed in the opposite direction, ignoring the way the taller man mumbled, “It’s not like that” under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! If you have any requests, please, please, please send me a request at rosebythesea.tumblr.com! I'm always taking 'em!


End file.
